


Children usually are

by itsabirditsaplaneitsmediocrefanfics



Category: Rope (1948)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 19:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabirditsaplaneitsmediocrefanfics/pseuds/itsabirditsaplaneitsmediocrefanfics
Summary: Brandon comes home with a bad mood and a confession.Also... problematic faves





	Children usually are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XxLevixX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxLevixX/gifts).



> I wrote this for my very sweet friend, who introduced me to this movie <3 It ends a lot cuter than it starts, I promise.

Phillip wedged the glass in between some plates in the dish drainer carefully and pulled off his dish gloves. With bare hands he plunged into the dish water, ignoring the heat and the disgusting sensation of food brushing against his fingertips. He pulled the plug and watched it swirl down with a deafening gulp, sucked into the pipes forever more.

Dark, cold pipes.

Behind him he could feel it - the rope hanging cheekily from their kitchen door knob, in some intricate twist of knots his husband had learned at their fancy scout camp. It was always there, and Brandon acted like it was all some big fucking joke.

He always acted like they hadn’t strangled their former classmate in cold blood - in some crazed attempt to prove Nietzsche’s ideals. They weren’t close to getting caught - no, they _were_ caught. By their old headmaster, nonetheless, who then fired Phillip’s gun out of the window of their New York apartment to get attention of those in the street below.

Phillip would never forget the coldness emanating out of his husband as he neatly made himself a drink, sirens approaching in the distance. He was across the room at the time, at his piano, but he still saw the way Brandon’s hand crept towards the bottle of bourbon, his hands wrapping around its neck in the smooth, precise manner he always had.

He then slipped over, and Phillip watched helplessly as the other man pointed the gun at Brandon while almost tipping his chair over in effort to scramble away.  
Phillip was certain that he’d shoot his husband dead right in front of him, and he held his breath in panic.

Brandon had only laughed, getting closer and closer to the headmaster before raising the bottle up and down in a flash, in such smooth velocity that before Phillip knew it, the old man laid in a pool of blood, the gun in his limp hand.

“What?” Phillip couldn’t believe his own eyes, and he looked up at Brandon with confusion and fear. “How - why didn’t he shoot you?”

Brandon had only shrugged. “I guess dear ol’ Cadell wasn’t as superior as we thought. Too weak to shoot even when his life was clearly in danger.”

The cop sirens were getting louder, more pressing. “What the hell are we going to do, Brandon? Now we have two dead bodies.” Phillip thought he was going to cry, head in his hands like a man completely defeated. They could possibly give them the death penalty. They'd separate him and Brandon

“Excellent! Stay like that,” Brandon said, opening that damn chest and hauling David’s body out of it. His lips were a shade of icy blue Phillip couldn't remember ever seeing in real life before, and he flopped on the floor with a terrible thud.

Despite his anxiousness and his borderline disgust (no mind that he had a hand in all of it as well), Phillip watched in awe as his husband smooth talked the cops into believing his lies.  
And there were so many holes!

With a tearful face and a shaking voice, Brandon had told them how his sweet old professor had met them there earlier with David for drinks. Then he and Phillip went out to run a quick errand - and when they got back, David had “gone home”.

Rupert did look a little red-faced and flustered, but the two other men just assumed that maybe they had gotten into an argument. They certainly would have never guessed Rupert had strangled David and threw his body in the chest, planning to frame Brandon and Phillip for it all along.

The sound of Brandon throwing open the door interrupted his worrisome memories, and Brandon met him in the living room to make him a drink. He loosened his tie aggressively and shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing both uncharacteristically on the entry table, his bad mood emanating without a word.

Phillip held up a whisky glass as he approached the couch, and Brandon kissed him, taking the glass and sitting down.

“Long day?” Phillip asked, brushing some lint off of his khakis.

Brandon nodded. “You have no idea. How was your day?”

Phillip shrugged. “Same old, same old. We’re getting ready for the Christmas pageant,” he said, fixing himself his own glass.

“It’s hardly October!”

Phillip shot him a look. “My job is riding on this.”

“Imagine,” Brandon said with a little smirk. “A job riding on a yearly Christmas pageant.”

Phillip shrugged. The hoity toity private school he taught with seemed to have the most ridiculous ideas when it came to what made an instructor worthy. “What about you? You certainly seem cross tonight."

Brandon sat down his glass on a coaster and leaned back with a drawn out sigh. “I’m having issues with one of my partners.”

Phillip felt a lump rise in his throat. Not again. I don’t want to get my hands bloody again.

“It’s Johnson. He just doesn’t want to concede to any of my ideas.”

“Have you tried meeting him in the middle?” Phillip asked. Brandon having troubles amongst his co workers was not a new problem for him; in fact, he had a nasty habit of making more enemies than friends.

Brandon shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to,” he muttered defeatedly into his glass. “But I guess it doesn’t really even matter. The whole thing has me thinking, though.”

Phillip’s hands paused in mid air, and he looked up, perplexed to see what seemed like very innocent joy coming from Brandon’s eyes. “...What?”

Brandon stood up, and for a second Phillip was entranced by the way his tailored suit looked on him - his husband was dashing, indeed - but shook the thoughts from his head in trepidation of what was going to be said next.

“Where do you see us in ten years?”

“I, uh,” Phillip stammered, caught off guard, as Brandon put down his glass and took his hands in his. “I guess here, Brandon. Together. I’d like to get away from that god awful school, but the firm is doing great, right? I mean - I know it seems so droll to be happy the way were are, but why mess with a good thing? I mean, why, when we have everything we ever wanted right-”

Brandon kissed him, and even though Phillip was well aware it was to shut him up, he kissed him back. When they pulled away, Phillip remembered why Brandon was always able to get him to do anything he wanted.

“But do you want more?”

Phillip stared back at Brandon blankly. “I’m sorry, I guess I just don’t understand…”

“I want a baby.”

Oh. Phillip’s vision tunneled a little bit, and he numbly went to the couch, where he sat down and tried to focus his sight on something completely stationary.

Brandon still stood across the room, watching him. “Are you going to be okay?”

“A baby.” Phillip rubbed his eyes. “That’s a .. that’s a big responsibility.”

“Well, yes, children usually are.”

“But- Are you sure you have the patience for a child?” Phillip asked, catching himself as soon as he had asked the question. His husband wasn’t evil - no, he’d go to the grave and tell Saint Peter himself that his Brandon was, deep down, a good person, only warped, like fine wood left in the rain - but he could see it now. Brandon, arm full of wailing baby, passing the little one off to a nanny - just as his mother had done.

Brandon’s face softened, and he sat down, taking Phillip’s hands again. This time they were warmer. “Love, my love, if anything, I have too much patience.” There was unexpected humor in his words, and Phillip smiled.

“Oh, Brandon, I’ve always wanted a child,” he said with a defeated sigh.

Brandon kissed his dark hair softly. “I’ll start the paperwork tomorrow.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Phillip bounced the baby on his leg with slow rhythm. The one-year-old squealed and giggled. “I think he has your eyes,” Brandon said with a grin, smoothing down their son’s red curls.

Phillip rolled his eyes in jest. “Oh, yes. Green as the bonny hills.”

Little Charlie - Charles, after Brandon’s father - cooed, his chubby face lit up with joy. Suddenly, it twisted, and hid coo was caught in a cough - that ended up splashing Brandon with spit up.  
Phillip watched as Brandon stood up stiffly, his face impassive. He walked back to their room and shut the door.

“I guess daddy isn’t quite used to this yet,” Brandon said softly, wiping off his mouth and holding him close.

He sighed in relief, though, when the bedroom door reopened, and Brandon stepped out in new clothes. He sat back down next to Phillip, with outstretched arms. “I want to hold him.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Phillip patted Charlie on the head with sympathy as he cried into his comforter. “And then - and the-the-then, she said I have no -NO SOUL,” he wailed.

Phillip, of course, was horrified at this news of a school bully harassing his young son, but the little asshole’s choice of taunts was so tepid it made him bite back a bit of a snort. “Oh, honey, don’t listen to her. What does she know? This - this… what’s her name again?”

“Joyce,” he said in a watery voice.

“...Joyce,” (who names their child Joyce in this day and age?), “Joyce is obviously a simpleton, an idiot. You are too good to be crying over silly words like that.”

He sat up and sniffled, straightening up. He really was his father’s child - a call to his pride was exactly the thing to get her back on track.

Phillip looked up to see Brandon standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Uh oh.

He disappeared into the hall, and Phillip followed in a hurry.

“Sweetheart… sweetheart…” He grabbed the back of Brandon’s shoulder, and he threw it off, turning around with full rage.

Brandon angry was a scary thing, and Phillip shrunk back. “I’ll have that child expelled,” Brandon hissed through clenched teeth. “She will never get in any private school ever again in this city - no, STATE…”

Phillip sighed. “Brandon, she’s a kid. They … are sometimes bullies. It’s good for him to learn to handle these things on his own. Remember when that sophomore - oh, you know, the boy whose dad was a Kennedy - remember when he pushed me into the pond?”

Phillip usually didn’t bring up their old school life. It was a poisonous topic that was like pulling a string on an unraveling rug. But that was too good of an example, especially since he knew exactly what it would bring up in Brandon’s mind.

“And then I pantsed him and threw him in the pond.” There was a wry smile on his lips. “You know, I loved you then, too.”

Phillip blushed. “That’s when I kind of got the feeling you might.” He reached up and toyed with Brandon’s tie.

He could hear Brandon’s breathing even out. “I need a drink,” he said, turning around to leave. “But if you don’t think I’m going to call the teacher, you’re crazy!”

\------------------------------------------------

“.... He should be out of surgery soon,” the attendant said, the dark bags under her eyes exaggerated by the hospital’s harsh lighting. Everyone here had bags under their eyes - a heavy cloud of exhaustion and despair clung to every corner of the ER waiting room.

Phillip nodded numbly. He turned to Brandon, who was sitting next to him in the uncomfortable chairs, hands buried in his hands.

“You have to calm down,” he said softly, rubbing circles on his back. “He’s going to be okay.”

Brandon pulled his hands away to reveal a rather cold face - the only indicator of distress being its pallor. “I don’t know whether to be furious or… or…”

“Terrified?” Phillip offered.

“How could he be so fucking stupid?” Brandon asked with great restrain. “He could’ve broken his neck.”

“But he didn’t,” Phillip said unhelpfully. He was the one who had found his seemingly lifeless body, pale and small, under his window on the ground.

“Who do you think the assholes were, huh? That Joyce kid?” Brandon seethed top to bottom. Phillip could see the menacing gears shifting in his head, formulating whatever ice cold revenge he would inflict upon these teenagers.

“Maybe, but what’s important now is making sure he’s okay.” Phillip knew he was being the devil’s advocate here. No matter who had coaxed him into sneaking out that night, the truth was his son had purposefully done something he knew he shouldn’t right behind their backs. And he had a suspicion this wasn’t the first time.

The next couple of hours sludged by, and Phillip could feel the coals of Brandon’s rage simmering under his surface more and more.

When the attending nurse came to fetch them it was well past 5 am, and they both shuffled - two men who had never moved in a way before that could be described as shuffling - after her.

Phillip felt all sorts of sick. Sick that his son almost died, that he’d endured so much pain, that his disobedience was the cause of it, and sick because the hateful side of his husband was starting to show again, like the shimmer of shark underneath dark waters.

However, those feelings gave away as soon as they walked up to the hospital bed. Brandon immediately took his pale hand, sitting down and scooting the chair closer to it. His anger was extinguished, put out by concern and love.

Even though the entire situation would be a bad memory that would cause Phillip’s stomach to turn with nervous nausea, he remembered how Brandon had wiped his son’s tears with glowing affection.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Be polite,” Phillip nagged under his breath, elbowing his husband in the ribs.

“They’re so boring and simple - I can’t believe we’re letting him-” Brandon cut himself off, realizing his words would only agitate an already on edge Phillip.

“He loves her,” Phillip said quietly, watching his guests mingle. “Remember how our parents acted when we got engaged?”

Brandon rolled his eyes and sighed, not at Phillip, but at the memory of his father slamming the door in his face. “They do look happy,” he muttered over the rim of his glass, watching the couple cheerfully talking to their soon-to-be much-dreaded in laws.

Phillip paused for a second, looking up at his husband. He looked much grayer, a little more faded than the day he had confessed wanting to adopt a baby. Brandon looked much softer than when the incident had happened, to the point it all seemed like a hazy nightmare, clinging at the daylight hours.

Phillip suddenly felt full of gratitude - that he stayed all those years ago, that he agreed to trust Brandon with raising their child together. And he smiled as Phillip took a long, deep breath as their new in-laws approached, putting on his best fake smile in order to get along with their son’s new family.


End file.
